Madrid
by tomatoflavoredpepero
Summary: In the underground society of Madrid, the Armada, known as the most dangerous gang in all of Spain, are thrust into adventures that cause many meetings with the Mafia, near experiences with death, and Frenchmen. The reason? One Lovino Vargas. AU.
1. Prologue

Ahem, welcome and thank you reading this story~ This is my first story on this account (I wonder if you guys can guess what my previous account was?) and of course, it's a Hetalia fic. As always.

Now, about the fic:

Title: Madrid

Rating: T [Preferably for older teens because of the mention of blood and non-descriptive gore? Might be M in the future, too]

Genre: Crime/Humor/Romance/Angst/Tragedy

Summary: In the underground society of Madrid, where gangs lurk, the Armada, known as the most dangerous gang in all of Spain, are thrust into adventures that cause many meetings with the Italian Mafia, near experiences with death, Frenchmen, unlocking one's memory, and other dangers. The reason? One Italian boy named Lovino Vargas. AU

Main Characters: Antonio [Spain], Lovino [Romano/S. Italy], Lieve [Belgium], Lars [Netherlands]

Main Pairings: Spamano, NetherlandsxBelgiums, UKUS, Franada, RoChu, LietBel, Germancest, unrequited!GerIta, unrequited!Itacest, past!FrUK, unrequited!SpainxBelgium, Girikey, JapKor, HKxTaiwan, SuFin, DenNor, NorIce, past!Male!HunPru, past!PruAus, past!AusSwitz, EstLat, Past!CanUS...you get the idea, tons of pairings and such. I'm not even sure what couples I'll include in this fic.

* * *

**Prologue**

_Four Months Ago_

** P**_ain. That was all the boy could feel. Pain, like an agonizing fire, all over his body, making his already trembling fingertips tremble even more violently. Blood was spilling out from the wound in his stomach, staining one of the many alleyways in the city of Madrid, Spain. His breathing was hitched due to the sharp pain he felt in his ribcage whenever he drew a breath, and his heartbeat was irregular. The boy realized with sickening horror that he was dying. And no one would be there to save him. The realization brought tears to his muddy-green eyes, and they spilled down over his cheeks, mixing with his lifeblood on the concrete of the alley. _

_ "__Non voglio morire_(1)_!" The boy whispered to himself, in utter anguish. He couldn't die like this, so pathetically being beaten by Spanish gang members because of what he did. What he did to survive. He couldn't die after all the sins that he committed and without atoning for them. He couldn't die without finding his brother. He didn't want to go to hell, because if he died, he was sure as fuck that he wouldn't be going through those golden doors into heaven._

_ The gang members laughed to themselves, not understand what the boy had said, and proceeded to kick the boy in his already wounded stomach, making the boy let out a bloodcurdling scream in agony._

_ "__Stop, per favore,_(2)_" The boy whimpered, but the men paid no mind to their victim's cry of mercy and laughed at the state he was in._

_ "__Es una pena sin embargo. Era tan guapo también._(3)_" One gang member said to the other, and they nodded their heads in agreement, chorusing, "__Sí!"_(4)

_ The same gang member then drew out his own knife and licked it, all the while looking at the crying boy's face. Bending over, he grabbed the boy's mouth, and brought the knife up to his neck. The others watched, amused, as the boy's eyes grew wide with horror. _

_ The boy shut his eyes tight, the tears flowing more rapidly, as he began to pray feverishly. __Dio, ti prego, salvami_(5)_, he thought to himself as he felt the man begin to add pressure on the knife._

_ "__¿Qué demonios estáis haciendo__?_(6)_" A voice rang out._

_ The boy opened his eyes in surprise as he heard the men drop their weapons on the ground. Looks of absolute horror plasted on each of their faces as they stuttered replies to the voice, trembling with fear. _

_ "__Oh, Dios mío, es de la Armada,_(7)_" One gang member whimpered._

_ "__V-vamos a morir no nos?_(8)_" Stuttered another._

_ "__Cállate. Realmente no sé si lo que realmente son de la Armada. Además, ¿por qué la mejor banda en Madrid que una mujer con ellos?_(9)_" Said another calmly, despite the fact that he felt that his legs were going numb. He was obviously the leader._

_ "__What the-?" The boy fell silent as he saw a figure bend over him. A man. But, he wasn't one of the gang members. Was he...the one who had saved him? Through the tears in his eyes and his pain, the boy could see that the man was handsome. Curly dark hair, tan skin, stunning green eyes and features, tall, and well-built. Through the boy's limited vision, he saw two other figures standing behind the handsome man, but he couldn't make out any of their features._

_ "Boss, what are we going to do with the boy?"_

_The handsome man turned his head around to face the two figures. "We're going to save him, silly."_

_ "Isn't that dangerous? We don't know anything about him."_

_ "We can't leave him like this, Lars," The handsome man snapped. He then bent down and placed one tanned hand on the boy's face. "__What's your name, chico_(10)_?"_

_ "L-Lovino Vargas." The boy moaned. Because of how in pain he was, Lovino couldn't see the mixture of shock, happiness, and anger cross the man's face. "It hurts, it hurts. It hurts so much."_

_ "Don't worry," The man said soothingly. "__Estás a salvo_(11)_."_

_ "G-grazie_(12)_." Then, the boy passed out. His body unable to handle the pain any longer._

_ The handsome man turned to his two subordinates, "Quickly. Lars, get the car. Lieve, tend to Lovino's wounds. I'll deal with these," At this, the man's lip curled up into a snarl, "Damn members of...what gang are they from again, Lieve?"_

_ Lieve shrugged as she helped Lars pick the boy up. "Some wannabe gang that's trying to be the next Armada. A bunch of weaklings, really."_

_ "Oh?" The man smirked now, his fingers edging towards the gun at his hip. "They're trying to impersonate us now are they?"_

_ The gang leader who had spoken calmly before felt his heart stop. His eyes widen in fear. "__Dios mío_(13)_...t-they're a-actually the Armada!" His eyes quickly focused on the boy who was being picked up by the two blonds. "I-Is he a friend of yours? W-We're sorry for what we've done, it's just that—"_

_ "Excuses won't make up for what you've done," The man snarled as he whipped out a gun with __a silencer on it. The man's green eyes which were normally full of laughter and happiness were now cold and hard. The eyes of a killer. "You'll pay with your lives."_

_ "W-why? W-we were just having a l-little fun—"_

_ "Because I won't allow anyone to hurt my Lovino ever again." The man replied curtly, his fingers itching towards the trigger. A look of pure anger crossed his face and he gnashed his teeth together, "I swore to myself that." And with that, the man pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each bullet hitting each of the men in the heart. The man thanked God that such a thing as the silencer was invented, or else the cops would probably be on their way by now, that and the fact that the wannabe gang members were scared shitless that they couldn't even scream if they wanted to._

_ Lieve looked at Lars, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. "Boss knows the kid?"_

_ Lars shrugged and proceeded to carry the boy to the car (ignoring a sputtering Lieve who indignantly cried out, "Hey! I can help! Hey, shithead! Are you even listening to me?"), laying him gently down on the backseat. Lieve leaned over and bandaged the boy's wounds. She grimaced. Boss wouldn't be happy of the bloodstains on the car. Whatever. She stroked his tear-stained face. Really, the kid was handsome even when coated with blood. Lieve had to admit to herself that even this boy could rival Boss in looks. And, Boss was one damn handsome man. With a pretty fine ass too._

_ "Boss, let's go!"_

_ "Coming!" The man called out, as he made his way towards the old, black Toyota. (Not before he checked to make sure all the members of the gang were beyond the realm of the living.)_

_ The next morning, the horrified citizens found the alleyway carpeted with layers of blood, the bodies of one of the most wanted gangs in Madrid, and unbeknownst to them, a missing Italian boy._

* * *

A/N:

Translations:

(1) I don't want to die! (Italian)

(2) Stop, please (Italian)

(3) It's a shame though. He was so cute, too. (Spanish)

(4) Yes! (Spanish)

(5) God, save me (Italian)

(6) What the hell are you guys doing? (Spanish)

(7) Oh my God, it's the Armada (Spanish)

(8) W-we're going to die aren't we? (Spanish)

(9) Shut up. We don't really know if they actually are the Armada. Besides, why would the best gang in Madrid have a woman with them? (Spanish)

(10) Boy (Spanish)

(11) You're safe. (Spanish)

(12) T-thank you (Italian)

(13) My God (Spanish)

Since I don't speak Spanish fluently or know any Italian to save my life, I used Google Translator. Next chapter, I'll try not to translate this many sentences into Spanish/Italian.

Anyways, I rather do hope that someone (anyone out there really) will enjoy this fic of mine and review. Oh, and Happy New Years to everyone~

-tomatoflavoredpepero (...when you think about it, tomato flavored pepero sounds pretty disgusting but, whatever x] )


	2. En el mercado del aire libre

Well, here we are: the first chapter of Madrid! Hopefully, everyone finds this satisfactory. And, haha, yeah, I know that this is like...3 weeks late, but blame finals and to make up for that this chappie's about 2,000 something words, compared to my usual 1,000 word chapters, so enjoy!

To all those who reviewed, you are my darlings. I swear I love you guys. Also, to the people who added this story onto their favorties/alert lists, I love you as well.

Anyways, the chapter title translates to into English as, "In the open-air market, my beloved saw..."

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I

_En el mercado del aire libre, mi querido miro..._

**E**ven in the sweltering Spanish summer, Madrid was still a bustling city with tourists and civilians alike, cries and shouts in Spanish rang throughout the city, and the sound of many small children's laughter was clearly heard over the din of voices. The marketplace was no exception either. In fact, to Lovino's utter displeasure, it was even more of a hullabaloo. Vendors and their stalls stood by the corners of alleyways and on the crowded streets, calling out exclaims of fresh fruit and whatnot. Children ran between the many stalls, holding in their sweaty palms some overly sweet candy, and the shouts of people haggling over a product's price pierced the air.

Lovino Vargas, a scowl (as always) stamped upon his handsome boyish, youthful face, slumped on the paved streets, leaning on some impossibly old Spanish building, his legs (in their scandalously tight skinny jeans) spread out before him, tripping the occasional unaware passerby. Nibbling on a tomato, he glared at the vendor with his cart to his left who was bellowing at the top of his Spanish lungs about _los dulces_**(1)** he was trying to sell.

Finishing his tomato with a big gulp, Lovino eyed the wrapped French baguette at his side hungrily. If that damned Pothead didn't finish shopping for the shit that the tomato bastard needed, Lovino swore to himself that he would eat all of the baguette...even if it did have the word "French" in its title. But, if he did just that, who knew what the Pothead would _do_? What the freakin' pedophile Pothead would do... Lovino paled just at the thought.

The Italian sighed and ran his fingers through his chocolaty locks, carefully avoiding that gravity-defying curl. He squinted his muddy green eyes at the sun, it was sunny today in Madrid, Spain. Then again, it was always sunny in the country of passion.

Lovino found his hands inching towards the baguette once more. _Dio_**(2)**, why couldn't the Pothead hurry up?

Just then, his eye caught something familiar within the crowds of people rushing past. A gravity defying curl, so similar to his own... Lovino held his breath, his eyes widening. It couldn't be, could it? No, no...Feli was dead. Killed. Murdered. But, there Lovino sat as he watched through the throng of people, a young man with features like his own—_he must be Italian, that must be it_, Lovino thought feverishly to himself. _He's Italian, not Feli, not Feli_—yapping happily to a brawny, hair-slicked back blond. The brunette's slim arms were wrapped around the man's bulging bicep. Hanging off the blond's other arm was an albino looking dejected, pouting and sticking his bottom lip out, and shooting jealous glares at the brunette for taking away the blond's attention.

_What the fuck? Is that macho guy a pimp or something?_ Lovino snorted to himself.

He noticed that all three were dressed splendidly and fashionably, no doubt in designer clothes from Milan or Paris. The brunette turned his head to look at the Spanish open air market, his eyes running along appreciatively to the beauty of the capital city. It was the first time Lovino could get a clear look at the brunette's face and realization surged throughout his body like poison (However, the brunette could not see Lovino at all through the crowds of shoppers). He felt his stomach drop to his toes, and although he was sitting on the ground, he felt his knees quake. The man with auburn-red hair, dancing golden brown eyes, skin the same olive complexion as his own, and the same sweet, pink lips, only his were upturned into a happy smile of innocence, unlike Lovino's own snarl. With his gravity-defying curl sprouting from the left side of his hair, and an air—yes, even many yards away, Lovino could feel the charisma that followed the smiling, happy man. The man who looked so much like, like...

"Feliciano?" Lovino jumped up at once, grabbing the baguette to his chest, and running after the trio who were now out of his line of sight. He ignored the fact that he was shoving past delicate women with their baskets filled to the brim with food or tourists with their expensive cameras, the only thing that mattered to him at that moment was finding out if that man was... _Oh, but Lovino, your brother died. He was killed. Murdered. Murdered. How could that be him? It's probably just some Italian tourist._ Nevertheless, Lovino ran on, he could just see the faint outlines of the trio's retreating backs. Just a little further, just a little further... "Feli? Feli, _fratello_**(3)**, is tha—"

And was promptly pulled back with a hard jerk from behind.

Lovino whirled his head around and came face-to-face with an eyebrow raised Lars van Dyk who was smoking something that looked suspiciously like pot, one hand holding a grocery bag full of supplies that the Boss wanted, the other holding a chunk of Lovino's white shirt.

"Kid, what are you doing?" Lars said gruffly as he let go of the Italian's shirt.

"I—," Lovino spluttered, his face red. "...it's nothing, fucking Pothead."

Lars just sent another questioning glance at the Italian boy. "If you say so," He motioned with a jerk of his head towards the old, black Toyota that was barely visible on the far side of the street. "Let's go. Boss is waiting for us."

"I don't give a damn about Boss."

"You should, kid. He saved your sorry ass." Lars said sternly as he began weaving his way back towards the Toyota. "Don't know why he did it, but you better be damned grateful. Not that I'm saying that Boss isn't annoying, but, still."

Lovino snorted although he didn't reply. As he followed the Dutchman through the crowds, he glanced behind, in hopes of seeing the man who looked like him. His face contorted into a look of horror as he realized what he was doing. He shook his head, and beat his fists into his noggin, _Non essere stupido! È morto, morto! Questo è stato solo qualche turista italiano che assomiglia a lui ... Accidenti, Lovino! È morto! Morto. Ucciso. Assassinato. Non c'è modo che lui è vivo ... sei stato alla ricerca di lui per tanto tempo e non avete mai trovato. Lui è morto, ucciso, assassinato. Morto. Ucciso. Assassinato. Ricorda che, idiota!_**(4)**

**

* * *

****L**ieve van Dyk giggled as she ran her hair through her blond, short, curly locks. "Then, what happened Boss?" She asked as she began to slide a little-too-close-for-comfort towards the Spaniard, her breasts just grazing his arm.

Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, affectionaly nicknamed "Boss" by those in the _Armada_, of course, was oblivious to the Belgian's obvious efforts in trying to woo him (who said that woo-ers could be just men?). "Well," The handsome man drawled cheerily. "The story could continue on and on forever, y'know? Is Lars and Lovinito back from _el mercado_**(5)**? I'm hungry." He asked as he got off of the sofa and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows.

Lieve pouted for more reasons than Antonio not continuing the story, "No." She said curtly, getting up as well. "But, you do know that means we're all alone."

Antonio blinked. "I know! It's so quiet without Lovinito yelling at me all the time!" He exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a puppy.

"And that means," Lieve said in a more seductive tone, her fingers running up and down the Spaniard's bicep, her body almost inches away from his. She raised her piercing emerald eyes to meet his equally beautiful eyes, her soft lips curled into a catlike smile. But once she saw the dumb confusion on the Spaniard's face, she sighed and retreated back a few steps, the smile quickly transforming into a little frown. "You do know what that means right?"

Antonio cocked his head to the right and grinned, "That we're alone?"

The Belgian shook her head, "Why I bother..." She muttered under her breath as she turned away towards the kitchen.

_Oh, you know why you bother though,_ The voice in her head snickered. _It's because he's the first man ever who's refused you, who helped you and Lars back then. Because he's dazzling and a prince...and you don't deserve him at all. _Lieve grit her teeth, she didn't have to be reminded of that. Of anything from the past.

"Lieve?"

Lieve turned around curiously. "What is it?"

Antonio smiled softly as he came up to her. He pressed his two warm index fingers on her cheeks, lifting them up so that a grin was etched across her face. "Smile! You look prettier when you smile!"

The Belgian's cheeks flushed pink, she could feel the heat radiating off of the Spaniard's body. She grabbed his right wrist in a delicate grasp, leaning in, her eyes full of adoration. She could tell by his expression that Antonio had no idea what was going on. For a gang leader, he really was so naive. "Boss, I—"

And then the front doors swung open with a loud _bang_!

Lieve jumped up and instantly let go of Antonio's wrist, sliding away in a manner as if he had burned her. She would die of mortification and horror if Lars or Lovino had caught her in such a manner with an unsuspecting Antonio. Because her thoughts were in such a worldwind, she didn't catch the Spaniard's worried gaze on her.

"Dumbass, we're fucking home." A familiar Italian accent laced with undeniable grumpiness rang throughout the house. Straining her ears, Lieve could just hear her stepbrother's grunt of hello.

Immedietly, the Spaniard's worried features melted into a big, childlike grin. "Lovinito!" He called happily, brushing past the Belgian on his way to greet the Italian.

As she heard the man she admired, the love of her life (or so she thought), flitter out of the living room and to the front stairwell, she couldn't help but supress a sob. "I was so close, oh so close to telling him," She muttered dumbly into her palm, although the Belgian did know that even if Lars and Lovino never interrupted, she still wouldn't have the courage to blurt those words she had held to her heart for so long. _But, I don't deserve him. I never will deserve him. Besides, see how happy he is with Lovino._ "B-boss..." _I love you, I..._

Strong arms wrapped around her torso from behind, Lars gently burrowing his face in her neck. "_Zuster, niet huilen._"**(6)**

* * *

**"W**hy can't I fucking go with you guys?"

"Because you're not a member of the _Armada_," Lars said as he adjusted the collar on his tuxedo shirt.

"Bullshit. I do as much of the work as any of you fucktards do," Lovino snapped back angrily.

Antonio sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "_Lo siento_**(7)**, Lovinito, _mi querido_**(8)**, but I can't afford bringing you to the meeting."

"Why not, dumbass?"

Antonio smiled crookedly as he tugged on his jacket, "Too dangerous, _querido_. Even those from as far as Barcelona are coming, and it's been a while since I saw those guys, so I'm not sure how they are. Besides, what would I do if someone decides to flirt with my cute little tomato?" Antonio cooed as he petted a fuming Italian on the head.

Lars gagged in the background.

"I'd fucking kill them if they did. And, bastard, I'm not 'yours' or 'cute', I'm fucking _macho_."

The Dutch snorted, "_Ja_**(9)**. Cause you're so macho. What about the time with the cat—"

"Shut up, _shut up_!"

Lieve laughed as she latched herself onto Lar's arm, looking stunningly beautiful in a backless dress, a dark ribbon quilted into her sunny locks. "We have to go now, or else we'll be late." She said, throwing her hair back. "We can't afford to be late at one of the few meetings where all the members of _Armada_ meet up with each other."

"We'll be back soon," Lars shrugged. "No later than three in the morning, kid." With the way he said it, the Dutch made it seem like it was perfectly acceptable to be out having a meeting with the most gruesome of gangs in Spain and to be back by home before three. What a parent he's going to make.

Lovino scowled. He felt like a kid again, when his parents would go out for a dinner by themselves or to do business, and to leave only him and...that boy around. The way he'd plead his parents to take him with them, and the way they'd laugh and say they would be back no later than eight. But, that was before _that_ happened. The Italian felt his stomache twist into an uncomfortable knot.

"_Querido_?"

Lovino's eyes snapped up, and to his surprise he found his face inches away from his savior's. Flushing bright red, he stuttered, "Do you know anything about a personal bubble, fucktard?"

Antonio just laughed, "Be safe, _querido_. I'll be back soon, don't get to lonely without me," He grinned.

"Wasn't even fucking planning on it."

Another peal of laughter rang through the Spaniard's lips. However, his eyes soon grew dark and his face somber, he lifted one tanned hand up to brush the Italian's pink-dusted cheeks. "_Hasta luego_**(10)**." And with a swish of his jacket and a placement of a hat upon his curly dark head, Antonio was gone.

"What the fuck was that all about?"

* * *

**D**espite the fact that Lovino had pushed away the fact that the strange man he saw could be his brother—dead brother, he mentally corrected himself, he couldn't help but wonder...

Lifting his eyes up to the bathroom mirror, Lovino saw a scowling man with an olive complexion, dark chocolatey curls, sharp muddy-green eyes, pink lips that were contorted into a look of displeasure. If he squinted his eyes, he could see _him_. If only he had a lighter hair color, golden-brown orbs instead of his own green, and if a smile could be permanently glued onto his face, Lovino could see _him_ in himself. But, no he wasn't _him_ was he? He never was as good as _him_, now was he? No, never, never, _he_ was the favored one, while Lovino was...Lovino was...

Shrieking, Lovino punched the bathroom mirror, ignoring the fact that he was ruining a part of Antonio's house and the mindnumbing pain, the blood the was pouring from his clenched fist, and the sharp glass that was embedded into his flesh. Sinking down onto the bathroom floor, not caring if he cut his knees and jeans on the shards of glass, Lovino clutched his head to his hands and cried.

"_Fratello, fratello_," He whimpered.

* * *

A/N:

Translations:

(1) Sweets

(2) God

(3) Brother

(4) Do not be stupid! He's dead, dead! That was just some Italian tourist who looks like him ... Damn, Lovin! He's dead! Dead. Killed. Murdered. There is no way that he is alive ... you have been looking for him for so long and have never found. He is dead, killed, murdered. Dead. Killed. Murdered. Remember that, you idiot!

(5) Market

(6) Sister, don't cry

(7) Sorry

(8) My beloved or my darling

(9) Yeah

(10) See you later

Alright, so please comment and tell me what you think of this chapter! Besides, I love reviews/favorties/alert lists thingies, and such things motivate me to write faster and update more quickly.

By the way, did everyone see Mr. Himaruya's sketch of New Zealand? He's the FREAKIN' cutest thing. Ever. Oh, and in my head, Netherlands calls Romano, "kid", and Romano calls him "Pothead". Not affectionately of course. PSSH. OF COURSE NOT.

So, what are you waiting for now? Click that button and review.

Lots of love,

tomatoflavored pepero

xxx


	3. Dos reuniones cuestionables

Holy Crap. It's been like...9 months since I last updated. D-don't kill me~

This chappie was hella hard to write. Dunno why. Although enjoy it after the suuuuuuuuuuper long wait! :)

By the way, this chapter title translates to: "Two Questionable Meetings"**  
**

* * *

2

_Dos reuniones cuestionables_

**"F**rancis Bonnefoy is a traitor."

The room burst into an explosion of noise, almost deafening as the members of the Armada exclaimed their disbelief at the Turk's statement.

"Bonnefoy a traitor?"

"Impossible! He was so dedicated to _la Armada—_"

"—what the fuck are you saying, Sadik? Francis would never—"

"_Silencio_**(1)**!" Antonio thundered, his tan arms clenching his seat's armrests as if his life depended on it. A fake smile curved his pink lips into a look of hidden fury—a twisted, sickening thing to look at compared to the Spaniard's normal carefree grin—his green eyes an icy fire. "Sadik," stated he, "You know very well that such an...accusation like that against one of our finest members is quite..._daring_ to say the least. As well as if you are wrong, dire consequences shall befall you, regardless of your usefulness to the Armada."

Sadik Adnan, a handsome young man in his middle twenties with rich dark hair cropped short and sultry olive-brown eyes. His own complexion a shade or two lighter than Antonio's very own healthy tan and a slight stubble graced his chin, giving him a look of rugged handsomeness. A plain white mask was fitted across his face, obstructing a view of his fine features which he flaunted of every so often. "Oh, I'm quite aware, _Patron_.**(2)**"

"Are you now?" Antonio's blazing eyes narrowed tightly, obviously not happy that a mere underling had dare even suspect Francis, his very own childhood friend and right-hand man, as the one who had betrayed the Armada to the European Interpol.

The man seated next to the Turk shifted. Sleepy, stunning green-blue eyes the exact color and shade of the Aegean Sea on a sunny day snapped to attention. Mouth grim and hand clenched tightly around his odd cross shaped weapon, Heracles Karpusi instinctively shifted to a defence stand—shuffling his chair closer to Sadik. It was very well known of Heracles and Sadik's rivalry, the two even went as so far as to maim each other dangerously with their choice of weapon (if not for Mona stopping the many fights with a shot from her gun). However, Heracles and Sadik were odd in the fact that they didn't allow anyone but each other to main, hurt, or threaten them. To Heracles it was always only Sadik, and for Sadik, Heracles was the only one (However, if you asked either of them straight out, both would vehemently deny it).

"_Velet_,**(3)**" Sadik murmured softly, sultry eyes fixed on the Spaniard, fingers tracing the rim of his mask.

** "**_Gérontas_,**(4)**" The Greek grunted, annoyance flashing through his face.

"Boss! Please, this is madness! Everyone here knows that Francis would _never ever_ betray us to Interpol!" Blurted out Mona quickly, her words getting muddled terribly by her French accent due to her haste.

"You're just saying that cause you're related to him."

"_Je dis que c'est parce que c'est vrai!_**(5)**" Mona Bonnefoy screeched, her hands reaching down to grasp her weapon—a gun, cocked and ready, pointing threateningly at Sadik's forehead. In response, the Greek man raised his own weapon, it's tip right at the crook of the French woman's white neck.

"And what if I have proof?"

"Proof? _Proof_?" Spat the aristocratic French woman. "What proof would _you_ have, Adnan?"

A smirk appeared on the Turk's face, quick, fierce, and fast. "Here." And with a flourish, he brought out a photograph from within the caverns of his dark olive coat. The photo seemed innocent enough: a picture of two men, one with long silky blond hair and ocean-dark eyes with a slight stubble gracing his chin shaking hands with a shorter man with scruffy dandelion-blond hair, bright forest-green eyes, and impossibly thick eyebrows.

Antonio's breath caught in his throat at the sight. "Wha—"

Lars rose one eyebrow, "Is that _Arthur Kirkland_? _The_ Arthur Kirkland? Head of Interpol?"

"Of course it is. Who else has as bushy eyebrows as he does?" Retorted Lieve.

"_Patron_, do you believe me now?"

The Spaniard gulped, trying to fight down the bile of anguish and disgust roaring in his soul. How? Why? Francis was his _mejor amigo_**(6)**, why would he...? "...I believe you, Sadik." He muttered lowly, words pulled out of his mouth in an agonizing slow manner. "Francisco is a traitor."

"B-b-but!" Mona cried a loud, jumping to her feet. "It doesn't make sense! Why would br—"

"We never knew half of the things he did," Lieve said brusquely. "He was so aloof, so _tactless_. Without a doubt—now that you think about it—Francis would commit such a crime as this."

The French woman snarled in anger and pointed one long, manicured finger at the Belgian. "Y-you dirty, little _whore_! Brother practically thought of you as one of his sisters—as, as family and here you are, _not backing him up_?"

"Don't speak to my _zuster_**(7)** like that!" Lars thundered angrily, clutching the Belgian woman's shoulder tightly for support as Lieve had grown rather pale and looked faint.

"Oh, like _you're_ any better! Lusting after your own damn—"

"_ENOUGH!_" Antonio thundered, and unwillingly, the members of _la Armada_ fell into silence. "T-this _issue_," he swallowed thickly, trying to force the tears back. "Is done. Franc—no, _Bonnefoy_ is a traitor. And if we ever see his face, we'll kill him, rip him apart, show him no mercy for abandoning us." _For abandoning me. After everything. _"End. Of. The. Fucking. Discussion. _Si?_"

It was Heracles who broke the uneasy silence.

"I have news as well," The Greek murmured sleepily.

"Oh? What is it?" Antonio said shakily—praying, hoping it wasn't as bad as the Franc—Bonnefoy fiasco.

"The Dragons of the East and the Soviet Union are having an alliance."

"They're _WHAT_?"

"Yeah. Apparently the Dragons' leader, Yao Wang," At this, Heracles pointed towards a picture of a rather feminine man with long hair tied back, "And the S.U.'s leader, Ivan Braginski," This time, the picture was of a giant man, with platinum hair and big childish purple eyes. A cruel smile adorned the face as well as a big-ass nose. "Are eloping. So, alliance."

"_WHAT_?"

"Just be glad that the Mafia's quiet," Sadik snapped irritably.

"But that's also what's unsettling," Lieve pointed out. "They've been quiet. _Too _quiet. And this alliance. If the Dragons and the S.U. A-are now allies, what will happen? _Plus_, no doubt Francis—I mean, Bonnefoy," She correct hastily at the cold look Antonio shot her. "Is telling the Eyebrow Freak all our plans."

"_Patron..._what are we going to do?"

"Boss? Any ideas? Recruit new members, stock up on weapons, fortitude the ranks?" Lars asked, taking a deep swig from his pipe.

For once, Antonio was a loss. Hearing that his best friend betrayed him to their sworn enemy, two dangerous and potential enemy gangs striking an alliance with each other, the Mafia's eerie silence—and Lovi. Oh, how all of this would affect Lovi who was _so_ clueless and didn't know anything of what he was in or rather, _who _he was.

_But that's your fault isn't it?_ The demonic voice inside the Spaniard's mind taunted. _It's aaaaaaaaaaaaall your fault. You should just tell him...don't tell me, you're afraid of what he would do to you? That he'd hate you? Ohhh. But, it's okay isn't it? I mean, everybody does end up leaving you, so __why do you even bother—_

And with a strangled sob, the tears that were held back was unleashed, and Antonio wept.

* * *

**L**ater, when the three of them returned back home, Antonio didn't comment on the broken mirror, or the badly-bandaged Italian who was asleep among the fallen glass shards. He simply bent over and picked the boy up, cradling him to his broad chest, and watched as his tears stained Lovino's shirt.

"_Te protejo. Te protejo. Te prometo, mi amor_.**(8)**" He chanted, feverishly, like a prayer.

* * *

"**B**loody Frog," Arthur Kirkland cursed as he glared daggers at the fashionably dressed Frenchman before him—who was making himself rather comfortable on the Brit's sofa. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"Ah, _mon cher_**(9)**," Francis cooed, totally ignoring the Englishman's question. "I'm here for one purpose, and only one purpose. You wanted me to tell you about the Armada, did you not?"

"Well, yes—"

"So, I, decided to come and tell you all about my extravagant adventures~!"

"It's fucking four in the morning and I just came down here to get a glass of milk and here you are, sitting on my fucking couch. Thanks, frog. Now I have to burn it. And it was a bleeding good couch too."

"Ah, Arthur, always full of charm, _non_**(10)**?" Francis winked merrily, but his handsome face grew grave and clouded. "_Non._ I must tell you now. By now, Antoine and everyone else will realize that I have betrayed the Armada."

"...what did make you decide to betray the Armada and come crawling to Interpol, frog?" Arthur asked, as he placed a kettle on the stove, relinquishing in the fact that in a few minutes, he would have a nice steaming cup of Earl Grey.

At this, Francis Bonnefoy smiled wryly, fingering the cross underneath his blue button-up shirt. "An angel. An angel came and saved me."

* * *

(1) Silence

(2) Boss

(3) Brat

(4) Old Man

(5) I'm saying it because it's not true

(6) Best friend

(7) Sister

(8) I will protect you, I will protect you. I promise, my love.

(9) My dear

(10) No

One of the best mafia fic's ever?

God. THE PRESSURE IS ON, IT'S ON ALRIGHT.

I hope that this chapter was worth the wait. Seriously.


End file.
